


your home is your home

by thekatriarch



Category: Rogue One: A Star Wars Story (2016), Star Wars
Genre: Backstory, F/M, Pre-Canon, star wars is about a war
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-12-16
Updated: 2019-12-17
Packaged: 2021-02-26 01:54:21
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Underage
Chapters: 7
Words: 9,275
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21825496
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/thekatriarch/pseuds/thekatriarch
Summary: Scenes from life as a child soldier
Comments: 8
Kudos: 12





	1. 22 BBY

“Don’t you want him to grow up in a free system?” his father says. “To have a chance at a good life?”

“Of course I do. You know I do. But you’re talking about a war. I don’t want my son to grow up in a warzone. He’s only four years old.”

Cassian is supposed to be in bed asleep right now, but instead he’s awake, lying on the floor in the hallway and listening to his parents argue. He isn’t sleepy, and he likes listening to his parents talking, even when it’s about grown up things that he doesn’t understand. But now they are talking about him. He scoots forward, listening.

“If we want a better world for Cassian, we have to be prepared to fight for it,” says his father. “What other choice do we have? Just let the Republic keep exploiting us? Watch our air and water get more and more poisonous and then send Cassi off to the mines or the refineries to work until he gets too sick to keep working, like happens to most of the kids on this planet?”

His father is always angry at something called the Republic. Cassian isn’t sure what that is, but he understands that most everything wrong in the world is its fault. 

“We finally have a chance to do something about it, now that all the systems that have been suffering like we have are getting together,” his father goes on. “Independence, Em. Think about that.”

“The Republic is huge,” his mother says. “And they have the money and the resources. You really think a bunch of poor planets like us are going to be able to fight them and win?”

“There are rich planets in the Confederacy, too, Em. Lots of systems want independence, not just poor ones. And the Trade Federation is backing us, too. They say they’ve been preparing for this for ten years. They’ve got an army of droids.”

“Droids?” says his mother.

“To do the fighting. Trade Federation droids, apparently. It’s not like we’re on our own.”

“You think we can trust the Trade Federation? They’ve invaded planets with those droids when negotiations don’t go their way. If they’re involved in this, they’re just looking out for themselves.”

“You know that was never conclusively proven,” says his father. “The trial—”

“Oh stop it. I don’t know what we’re arguing for anyway. It’s not like it’s our decision. We’re just along for the ride, as usual. I don’t think it matters whether it’s the Republic or this new Confederacy; we’re never going to have true independence on Fest.”

“You’re too pessimistic,” says his father. “Have a little hope.”

* * * * *

“Have you heard the news?” Cassian is lying on the floor in the hallway again, listening to the grownups. It’s late and he’s supposed to be in bed, but he’d rather lie here and eavesdrop.

“What now?” asks his mother.

“They say the Republic has an army of clones,” says his father’s friend. “They’ve started calling it the Clone War.”

“Clones?” says his mother.

Cassian doesn’t know what a clone is, but whatever it is, it makes his father angry.

“Disgusting,” says his father. “Clone soldiers? Who would do something like that?”

“It can’t be true,” says his mother. “It would take… how would you even make that many clones?”

“That’s what everyone is saying,” his father’s friend says. “Clones. I have a friend who was at Christophsis. Says every soldier looks just the same. Same face and everything. Creepy as hell, he said.”

“Christophsis was a disaster,” says Cassian’s father. “Clone soldiers. Disgusting. You think the Republic can’t get any worse and then you find out they’re cloning humans just to use as cannon fodder.”

“Would it be better if they were sending ordinary people out there?” asks his mother. “I’m really not sure it would be.”

“At least clones don’t have families, I guess,” says his father’s friend. “It’s a hell of a fucked up thing to do, though, pardon my language, Em.”

“We’d better get moving,” says Cassian’s father.

“Be careful,” says his mother.

* * * * *

Cassian had fallen asleep right where he lay on the floor, and he wakes up when his father and his father’s friend come back later that night. His father’s friend is swearing.

“He needs to go to a hospital,” says Cassian’s mother.

“We can’t go to a hospital,” says his father. “Not without getting arrested.”

Cassian creeps forward, silently, and peeks into the kitchen, where his father’s friend is lying on the ground. He’s bleeding.

“What the hell happened up there?” his mother asks.

“It looks worse than it is,” says his father’s friend. Cassian is creeping closer. Nobody has noticed him.

“Well it looks pretty goddamn bad,” says his mother. “I’m going to have to cut these off.” She’s carefully cutting the man’s pants off of his leg.

“We can’t keep going like this,” says Cassian’s father. “When is the Confederacy going to actually back us up down here?”

“If the Confederacy sets up here, the Republic army will be right behind them,” says Cassian’s mother. “You really want the war at our doorstep? Hold still, Derek. This is going to hurt.”

The man makes a sound. A pain sound. Cassian keeps creeping closer, and then his father sees him.

“Cass? What are you doing up?”

His mother turns around and sees him, and she looks scared and angry. “Go to bed Cassi,” she snaps. “Take him to bed, will you? He shouldn’t be seeing this.”

His father picks him up and carries him down the hallway back toward his bedroom. “You know you shouldn’t be spying on grownups, Cassi,” he says.

“What happened, Daddy?”

“Nothing you need to worry about. Go to sleep. I better not catch you out of bed again.”


	2. 20 BBY

“No school today, Cassi,” says his mother.

“Why not?” asks Cassian.

“We’re going to go on a little adventure instead. Won’t that be fun?” His mother is worried about something. More worried than usual. “You’re a big boy, now, aren’t you? Six years old.” She is putting things into backpacks, quickly.

Cassian’s father has not been home in several days and his mother will not tell him where he is. Last night, out the window of his room, Cassian saw that the sky was lit up with hundreds more stars than usual: ships. There are always some ships coming and going, but he’d never seen so many at once before.

Outside he can hear blaster fire, which is a sound he’s heard a lot by now, and shouting, and sometimes loud booms that make everything rattle and shake.

“Come on Cassi,” says his mother. She puts his pack on him and shoulders her own. “I need you to be very quick and very quiet, okay baby? Can you do that? Can you be a big brave boy?”

“Yes Mamá.”

Then there is an incredibly loud sound that hurts his ears, and the next thing he knows he is in darkness and he can’t move. “Mamá?” he asks. “Mamá?” He tries to move, but there is something heavy holding him down. Why can’t he see? “Mamá?” He doesn’t cry, because he is a big boy, not a baby, and because his mother told him to be brave, but he is scared and confused. 

It’s his mother who is on top of him, he realizes, but she must be sleeping or something, because she doesn’t move or respond to him when he talks to her. “Mamá, what’s happening?” There is a sticky fluid dripping onto his face which smells sort of like metal, like copper wires. He squirms, trying to find a way to get free, but he is trapped, and he can still hear blaster fire, and the ground is still shaking and rumbling. 

Eventually, he falls asleep, because there is nothing else for him to do.

* * * * *

When he wakes up again, his mother is cold. He’s never felt her so cold. “Mamá?”

He’s not sure how long he’s been down here. It’s quiet outside now; he can’t hear the blaster fire and the ground isn’t shaking anymore. He’s very scared, but his mama told him to be brave, so he still doesn’t cry. “Mamá,” he says again. “Mamá, wake up.” But she is perfectly still and so cold.

He can hear footsteps up above, and voices. Are they friends or are they enemies? He won’t cry. He’s a big boy, six years old.

“Emmy? Cassi?” It is his father’s voice, shouting, and things are shifting around, all the rocks and dust lying on top of them. “Goddammit, goddammit. Emmy?”

“Maybe they left,” says another voice. “Maybe they got out in time.”

Cassian tries to find his voice. His father is here. His father will fix everything. “Daddy!” he yells, as loud as he can. “I’m here, I’m here!”

* * * * *

The kids are collecting things to throw. This is a pretty easy game, because the bombings left so many buildings in pieces, like Cassian’s house. The hard part isn’t finding things, it’s avoiding being seen finding the things. But there aren’t many soldiers around right now. They fill up their pockets with old pieces of building until it’s so heavy it’s hard to walk, which makes them laugh.

Then they climb to the top of the roof and pile their things up at the edge.

The oldest kids on the roof are nine and ten. The kids who are over ten get to be with the grownups and even use blasters. The really little kids are hidden in a basement several blocks from here, the place where they all sleep at night. Cassian is the youngest of the kids on the roof and this is the first time he’s been allowed to come.

Collecting things to throw was warm work, but now that they’re just sitting on the roof and waiting, Cassian’s getting cold, even in his big puffy coat, and it’s starting to snow again. He sneezes, and one of the bigger kids tells him to be quiet.

They might have to wait a long time before the soldiers come by, so as the fresh snow starts to cover the roof, some of the kids start playing, building little people and animals out of it. It’s fun; they can still have fun, even though there are soldiers and bombs, and most of them have at least one dead parent, and none of them have a real house anymore. The war can’t stop them from being kids, sometimes.

“They’re coming,” says one of the biggest kids, Tarn. “Everybody get ready!”

They all rush to the edge of the roof and pick up their missiles. There’s a troop of soldiers coming down the street, all marching and holding their blasters, all dressed identically. When they pass by, the kids all start throwing things at them and yelling.

The soldiers all swing their weapons up toward the roof and Tarn screams “get down! Get down!” Cassian isn’t sure what’s happening but Tarn shoves him and he falls on his face in the snow.

Somebody down below is yelling, but they are yelling in Basic, and Cassian only knows a little Basic. He was learning it in school, but his father didn’t like him to speak Basic at home and now he doesn’t go to school anymore.

Then there is a lot of shooting and yelling down below and Tarn tells him to crawl to the other side of the roof and climb down. “Run for home,” says Tarn. “Go, Cassi!”

He does what he’s told.


	3. 15 BBY

“We need to hurry,” says Dalen.

“Shut up, will you?” says Cassian. “I’m working as fast as I can. You can’t rush this, unless you want to end up with your brains splattered all over the road.”

“They’re  _ coming,” _ says Dalen.

“I know they’re coming. Just shut up. If you’re that scared you can leave and I’ll finish this up by myself.”

“I’m not scared,” says Dalen, offended.

“Then shut up. I’m almost done.”

Cassian is eleven, and Dalen is twelve. Dalen thinks this means that he’s in charge, but Cassian has been doing this a lot longer than he has; Cassian built his first bomb when he was only eight, and Dalen’s never built one on his own before. He’s supposed to be paying attention to what Cassian is doing so he can learn to do it, too. 

It’s hard to build bombs when it’s this cold outside; you can’t do it with gloves on, and his fingers get so cold they’re almost numb, which is just about as dangerous as wearing gloves. Sometimes he puts his fingers in his mouth just to warm them up, but that can be dangerous, too, since you could get sick.

“Okay,” says Cassian. “Okay, it’s ready. Be careful. Back up, get behind me.” He connects the last wire, holding his breath. This is the most dangerous time. If he did everything right, nothing much will happen. If he made a mistake, the whole thing might explode and kill them both. 

“I can see them,” says Dalen. “We have to go.” The boys run for it, leaving the bomb in the middle of the road. Cassian has the detonator in the pocket of his coat. They climb up the ridge and lay flat on top of it, and Cassian puts his gloves on, flexing his cold fingers, then pulls his rifle off his back and watches the convoy crawling forward through the scope.

“Call Kel,” he says. “Tell her everything’s ready to go.” He pulls the detonator from his pocket and holds it in his hand, concentrating on his targets. The timing is important.

The convoy is four vehicles. Military transports at front and back, full of stormtroopers. Maybe an officer or two, maybe not. The middle two are full of medical supplies, which is what they’re after. Med supplies didn’t used to be guarded this heavily, but every time they hit another supply run, the enemy increases security.

“It’ll be AT-STs pretty soon,” says Dalen.

“Good,” says Cassian. “Those are easy to take down, just stretch a cable across the road. Now shut up.” He’s watching the lead speeder. It’s almost where he needs it to be. He can’t blow the bomb too early. He needs them right on top of it.

“Hit it,” Dalen hisses.

“Not yet.” He counts to five, slowly, and then hits the detonator, holding his breath again. You could never be sure that it would actually work.

It works perfectly. The fuel tank on the speeder is damaged and it goes up in flames.  _ Perfect. _

The speeder at the back stops and stormtroopers come streaming out, shouting and looking in all directions. Cassian counts them: twelve. “Stay down,” he warns Dalen as he lines up his first shot. A clean shot to the head; the stormtrooper falls. Now they know where he is, and they’re all looking up toward him, shouting and waving wildly. He takes down another one. That’s two. “Keep an eye on the first speeder. Some of them might still be alive.”

“Got it,” says Dalen.

Now the others come up from the ditch on the other side of the road, blasters ready. The stormtroopers don’t notice them because they’re all looking for the sniper, for Cassian. Every time he can get a shot he takes it, but now Kel and Tarn and the others are in it, and they’ll take care of the rest of them.

It doesn’t take too long. All the stormtroopers are dead, or injured so badly they’re as good as dead, and Kel and Tarn and the others tear open the transports full of supplies. Cassian just watches, scanning for other hostiles. The drivers of the transports get killed, but there’s a medic in one. A real medic! Now that’s a big score, potentially. He’s watching closely as Tarn binds the medic’s hands and they push him down toward the ditch. He has his rifle trained on the medic’s head, just in case, but the medic doesn’t seem to be armed. From here it looks like he’s pleading for his life. That’s a good sign. He’ll be cooperative, maybe.

“We’re moving out,” Kel says on the comm. “See you at home.”

* * * * *

It’s several hours to get back home. Home tends to move around a lot, because the enemy is always looking for them. Right now, home is an old mine buried deep in a mountain. It’s not very warm and not very comfortable, but it’s been so long since Cassian lived anywhere warm or comfortable that it doesn’t make any difference to him.

“How’d we do?” he asks Kel. Kel is thirteen and Cassian has a crush on her, which is embarrassing, but she’s nice about it. Her short hair is dark blonde and her eyes are brown, and she taught Cassian how to build bombs.

“Good,” says Kel. “Should keep us pretty well stocked up through the end of the year. Timing on that detonation was perfect, Andor.”

He shrugs. “Practice makes perfect.”

They don’t speak Basic. Basic is the enemy’s language; the enemy can’t understand them when they speak Festian, so that’s what they speak. Most of them grew up speaking both languages. Cassian learned Basic in school, back when there was such a thing as school, but his father refused to speak it at home. Cassian’s father had been what Sorra calls a “nacionalista.” If Cassian spoke Basic at home, his father would give him a lecture about how important it was to be proud of their unique cultural heritage as Festians. According to Cassian’s father, replacing indigenous languages with Basic was one of the insidious ways that the Republic had dominated Rim worlds. Cassian had never understood a word of his father’s lectures, but he was only seven when his father died.

They only use Basic when they talk to offworlders, which is rare. During the first war, there had been a lot of offworlders here, or at least that’s what Cassian’s been told. He was four when the first war started and seven when it supposedly ended. The fighting had never stopped, not even paused; but the enemy had changed its name from the Republic to the Empire, and their offworld allies had disappeared, and that was what people meant when they said the war ended, apparently. From Cassian’s perspective, it was all the same thing.

The raid had gone really well. Better than anything had gone in months, probably. They have bacta patches for months, and even antibiotics and antivirals. Infection and sickness take out more people than you ever expect. And they have the medic, who seems interested in cooperating. He doesn’t speak Festian, of course; he’s an offworlder, sent here by the Empire. They don’t have many homegrown medics on Fest, not with real training. There’s no university here anymore, and nowhere for people to learn except on the fly, in the field, which is how Cassian has learned what he knows.


	4. 11 BBY

Dalen is dead. He’d slipped up right at the crucial moment and the IED had gone off while he was crouched over it. It happens all the time. His head came most of the way off, which is lucky, because it means he died right away. Cassian has a large, jagged piece of metal shrapnel embedded just below his collarbone.

“What the fuck happened?” Kel’s voice over the comm. “You still with us?”

He hisses through the pain and lifts the comm to his mouth. “I’m here. Dalen’s dead. I’m hit but I can walk.”

“Get out of there,” says Kel. “You know where to meet.”

“On my way,” he says, and he staggers to his feet.

* * * * *

It’s not that far to meet Kel, but his shoulder is hurting worse and worse. That metal is in there deep, but he knows better than to try to pull it out. Sometimes the thing that wounded you is the only thing holding your blood inside.

“You look like shit, kid,” says Kel, when he arrives at the hideout.

“Thanks,” he replies.

“Lie down a minute and let me look at it,” she says and he does as he’s told. Kel takes her knife and carefully cuts through his clothing to expose the wound. She probes it gently with her fingers and he tries not to show how much that hurts. “Could be worse,” she says. “Doesn’t look like it hit an artery, and I don’t think it’s very deep, so you’re probably not going to bleed out.” She pulls a bottle of alcohol from her pack and soaks some cloth in it. “I’m going to take it out, okay? It’s going to hurt like hell.”

“It already hurts like hell,” he says.

“Hold still,” she says. “If you flinch I might nick an artery after all.” She puts one knee on his other shoulder and the other on his arm to hold him down. Not exactly how he’d hoped to get Kel on top of him, but you have to make do with what you’ve got.

He takes a deep breath, and as he lets it out, she wrenches the shrapnel out. _“Motherfucker,”_ he hisses. Kel presses the wet cloth firmly against his wounded shoulder and it burns like hell.

“Good man, Cass,” she says. “Just gonna take a look at you now.” She eases up on the pressure and lifts the cloth. “Not too bad. You got lucky, kid. That landed an inch lower you’d be dead, but I think you’ll be okay, as long as it doesn’t get infected. You have any bacta in your pack? I’m out.”

He shakes his head.

“Have to do it the old fashioned way,” she says. “This is really gonna hurt.” She pulls the wound open and pours some of the alcohol inside. He grits his teeth and tries to concentrate just on breathing. “There we go,” says Kel. “Worst is over.” She presses the cloth back against the wound, firmly. “Just gotta slow this bleeding down and then I’ll stitch you up. What the hell happened down there anyway?”

“It went off,” he says. “I don’t know. I shouldn’t have let him do it; he’s never been any good at it.” He’s starting to shake a little, and he feels dizzy, even though he’s lying down.

“You’re turning blue,” says Kel. “Are you cold or are you going into shock?”

“Both,” he says. “Probably.”

“Lie still,” she says. With one hand she’s still pressing down on the wound to slow the bleeding, but she takes her other hand and sets her fingers against his neck. “Slow pulse. Try to breathe slow and deep, okay kid? Can you move your legs?”

“Yes,” he says. Why wouldn’t he be able to move his legs? He walked all the way up here. He’s shivering now. He wishes she would stop calling him “kid.” He’s fifteen, which is more or less an adult in their world, and she’s only two years older than him, and most importantly, he’s been in love with her, on and off, for years.

She sets her pack under his feet. He remembers this. This is what you do when someone is in shock. Lift their legs. “Gonna stitch you up,” she says. “That’ll help.” 

He likes how calm she always is. Nothing ever fazes Kel.

He barely notices the needle as she stitches him up. “Gonna be some scar,” she says. “Lucky you. Girls love scars.”

“Oh, good,” he says, trying to laugh, but he’s still in a little too much pain for that. He tries to concentrate on breathing deeply, like Kel told him to. “What’s the plan now? We have to get back to camp.”

“You need to rest for a bit first,” says Kel. “We’re well hidden here. Nobody followed you, right?”

“No,” he says. “If they had we’d be dead already. But there's snow on the ground. I don't know if I covered my tracks." He can't remember. He probably did, didn't he? He's feeling confused.

“I’ll go check it out,” she says. “Just wait here. Don’t move, and keep breathing, okay Cassi?”

“I hate being called Cassi,” he says. Cassi is a child’s name, and it was what his mother called him.

“Sorry, _Cassian,”_ she says, and then she leans over and kisses him quickly on the mouth. He’s so surprised that he can’t react before it’s over, and then Kel is shouldering her rifle and slipping out of the hideout.

* * * * *

He doesn’t ask her about it when she comes back, and she doesn’t say anything, either, or try to kiss him again. It’s almost the only thing that he’s thought about since she left, but he’s not sure what to say or what, if anything, it means.

“You did good,” she says. “Not much of a trail after all, and it's snowing again. How you feeling?”

“Still alive,” he says, trying to smile.

She sits next to his head, touches his forehead. “You feel better,” she says. “You were real sweaty and cold before. Shock must have worn off.”

“Yeah,” he says. “I feel better. Except it hurts like an absolute bitch.”

She runs her hand through his hair and he closes his eyes. “It’s gonna hurt for a while. You’ll probably be out of commission a couple weeks. That’ll be nice, huh? Get a rest for once.”

“I don’t want to rest,” he says. “I want to win. We’re losing, Kel.”

That’s the thing nobody ever says, but they all know it’s true. The war started eleven years ago, and it started here in earnest nine years ago, when the clone army landed, the day Cassian’s mother died. The first of many times that he’s almost died, but managed to escape with his life. That day, after his father dug him out of the wreckage, they’d gone together to Sorra’s, and Cassian has been a soldier ever since. He was six.

But they’re losing. The enemy has limitless resources. For every stormtrooper they kill, another transport full of them lands. And they keep dying. They get shot, or they get sick, or they freeze to death because they live in caves, or in abandoned buildings, or wherever they can find a space that the enemy isn’t. Or they blow themselves up like poor Dalen. There used to be so many of them, and now they’re down to about twenty, and there’s no reinforcements coming. They’re going to lose, but there’s nothing to do about it but keep trying.

“Sorra says she’s talking to some offworlders,” says Kel. She is still stroking his hair, which feels incredibly nice. “There’s people like us all over the galaxy, Cass. Cassian. We just need to coordinate with them. We haven’t been thinking big enough. The Empire’s a bigger problem than just our world. It’s everywhere. We need to take the fight to them.”

“You mean leave?” he says. It’s hard to imagine leaving Fest. His father had left Fest and never come back, years ago, when it was still the Republic they were fighting.

“We could go someplace warm,” says Kel, and he laughs. “I hear space is cold, but at least there’s no snow on a starship. Anyway, if we stay here we’re just going to die. Like you said, we’re losing. You should try to get some sleep. We can start for camp after it’s dark.”

* * * * *

Lucian goes down first, shot in the back, dead immediately. Cassian slips on the ice and falls, so the blaster bolt that would have taken him out flies over his head. Kel takes one to the thigh and falls. He crawls toward her, wraps himself around her, and throws them both down into the drainage ditch by the side of the road. It’s unusually deep and the ice hangs over the far bank, creating a little tunnel they can crawl into. Luckily the snow here has been packed in hard and frozen over, so it doesn’t show evidence of their passage like fresh snow would. Unless one of them is bleeding.

He can’t look back to see if there is a trail of blood. The space is too tight, and if they disturb the ice it might fall in on them and they could suffocate, or drown. He and Kel are wrapped around each other, face to face, which is something he’s always wanted, but not like this. They’re both shaking, equally from cold and from fear. They’re going to die. Kel’s been shot. Lucian’s dead. The stormtroopers are going to find them. He’s shaking so hard he’s afraid the ice will shatter and fall on them like an avalanche.

“You see where they went?” asks one stormtrooper, in Basic.

“Down there somewhere,” says the other.

“God damn, I hate this fucking planet,” says the first. “I guess we better go look for them.”

“This one’s dead,” says the other stormtrooper, and Cassian hears another shot and knows that he shot Lucian again for no reason. Or just for fun. “I don’t want to climb all the way down there. I shot the girl, she’s probably dead anyway.”

“You shot her in the leg. She’s not dead.”

“Yeah, I shot her in the leg and then she fell down a fucking ravine. She’ll freeze to death down there anyway.”

“They live on this planet, you moron. They don’t freeze to death here.”

“You really want to hike all the way down there?” The stormtrooper starts firing into the ditch, randomly. Cassian can hear the bolts sizzling as they strike ice. He closes his eyes and hugs Kel tighter. Please don’t hit us. Please don’t hit us. He tries to angle himself so he can shield her if the bolts do find them. If he has to die, he guesses there are worse ways to go then holding her.

“There,” says the stormtrooper. “They’re dead. Let’s just say this one was alone.”

“Yeah, okay.”

They don’t move for a long few minutes, still shaking and trembling, and then Cassian throws caution to the wind and kisses her, like he’s been dreaming of kissing her ever since she kissed him months ago in the little hideout.

When they break apart, he blurts out, “I love you,” and she doesn’t answer but just kisses him again, which is just as good.

“Are you okay?” he asks. “Your leg—”

“It’s okay,” she says. “It’s not bad. The ice helps. Do you think they’re really gone?”

“I don’t know,” he says. “How long you want to wait?”

“Longer,” she says, and presses closer to him.

* * * * *

Right now they’re living underneath a section of the city that was so heavily damaged during the bombing campaigns of the Clone Wars that it’s been almost entirely abandoned for almost ten years. This used to be the sewers, but since nobody lives here anymore, it’s just a bunch of unused tunnels. They’ve been here for a while and it might end up being a semi-permanent home. At least until they’re discovered, which is always a possibility.

There’s more privacy than they’ve had in some of their other camps, which is good for some things. People are used to living without much privacy, and they’ve all learned to politely ignore the evidence of their comrades quietly having sex. But Cassian is relieved not to have an audience, even one that is good at pretending they’re not there, because he doesn’t really know what he’s doing. They slip into a side tunnel far enough away from the main camp that no one will be able to hear them. It’s fumbling and awkward, and they both laugh a lot and it’s over much too quickly, but it’s nice, and he loves her. 

She hasn’t said that she loves him, too, but he’s decided that he doesn’t care if she does or not.


	5. 10 BBY

There are offworlders coming. That’s what Sorra says. She says she’s been in contact with offworlders who are forming an alliance to oppose the Emperor. There are groups like them all over the galaxy, and they’re banding together.

The offworlder who is coming is a senator from a rich Core world. Cassian is skeptical that they can trust someone from the Core, but they need the help. They’re dying. 

Cassian is one of the team who is sent to meet the offworlder and bring him back to meet with Sorra. Sorra can’t go out into the populated parts of the city because she’s too recognizable as their leader. Sorra has been the leader of the Festian resistance since the beginning.

The offworlder is a tall, soft spoken man with dark hair. Cassian thinks he might be the first rich person he has ever seen. He’s seen people who are Festian rich, but this man is really rich. Core rich. He hates him, because he knows his father would have hated him, but the man is here to help, so he keeps his mouth shut.

The offworlder has some official excuse for visiting Fest. Peace talks, he explains. A ceasefire. They lead him to where Sorra is waiting.

“Our hope,” says the offworlder in Basic, “is to eventually set up a base here. Fest is strategically well placed for some of the operations we want to do in this sector. But the Imperial presence here is too great. We’d be discovered immediately. My colleagues in the Senate and I are working on a plan to get the Imperial military to leave this world.”

“Leave?” says Sorra. “The Imperials are never going to leave Fest.”

“Not as long as your group is active, no,” says the offworlder. “To be quite honest with you, there’s nothing here that the Empire really wants, but they can’t afford to be seen leaving while there’s such an active rebel presence here. That would be a loss. If your people lie low for a while, things will be different.”

Sorra frowns. “You think they would leave if it weren’t for us?”

The offworlder nods. “I’m certain of it. It would take some time for them to trust it, but you would be surprised how little it can take.”

“He’s talking about letting them win,” says Cassian in Festian. “You can’t be considering that, Sorra.”

Sorra looks up at Cassian. “If you’re going to speak out of turn,” she says in Basic, “at least do it in a language our guest understands.”

Cassian bites down inside his mouth. He shouldn’t have said anything. Sorra stares at him, hard. “Well? Why don’t you repeat yourself for our guest, Andor?”

He shakes his head, embarrassed. He knows better. Sorra just keeps staring at him, so eventually he attempts to repeat himself in Basic. It’s been so long since he spoke it that he struggles to find the words, and they feel strange in his mouth.

The offworlder looks at him, and Cassian doesn’t like the look on his face when he does; it’s too much like pity. He understands instinctively that when this rich man looks at him, he sees a child, not a man.

“It’s not letting them win,” the offworlder says. “This is about strategy. Your activity here isn’t accomplishing what you want; it’s making the Empire crack down on you. Take a step back. Let them think they’ve won, and you’ll be able to be more effective.”

Cassian is quiet, looking at his feet.

“You’ve given us a lot to think about, Senator Organa,” says Sorra. “Thank you for coming. Stay here, Cassian.”

* * * * *

“Sorra’s sending me offworld,” says Kel. They’ve just had sex and she’s still lying on top of him with her head on his chest.

“What are you talking about?” says Cassian.

“She just told me. She wants me to go with that senator. Go see what their alliance is all about, if we can trust him, you know. That kind of thing.” She climbs off of him and starts to get dressed.

“You can’t go offworld,” says Cassian, stunned. “You belong here. I love you.”

“Cass,” she says. “Stop it.”

“Stop what? Stop loving you?”

“At least stop saying it.” She sits down. “What do you think it’s going to accomplish? I can’t stay. The war’s bigger than Fest, you know that. And we’re losing, you said it yourself. These offworlders are our best chance to turn things around. Somebody has to go, and Sorra picked me. I’m not going to say no.”

“Maybe I can come with you,” says Cassian, hopefully.

She shakes her head. “I already asked her and she said no. You really pissed her off in that meeting, you know.”

“Yeah, I know.” He sighs.

"Besides," she says, "your Basic is terrible. You're gonna have to learn if we're going to work with these people."

"I know Basic!" he objects. "I'm just out of practice."

"So practice," she says.

“When are you leaving?” he asks.

“Tomorrow, I think.” So soon. She runs her fingers through his hair. “I’m sorry, kid. I’ll miss you."

He wants to beg her to stay, but it would be pointless. It would only make him seem weak and childish, and he doesn’t want Kel to think he's either of those things. 

She’s still never told him that she loves him, and he knows that she never will.


	6. 3 BBY

Dantooine is just about as unlike Fest as any planet could be, but so are most of the planets he’s been to. He hasn’t seen home since Davits Draven found him and convinced him to leave, four years ago. He might not ever see it again. He doesn’t know if that bothers him or not.

He’s good at what he does, so he focuses on that. It’s hard; not the work itself but the toll it takes to spend all his time lying and manipulating people. He’s always tired, and usually lonely. Once in a while he sleeps with someone, because there’s precious little else to do for entertainment or fun, but he’ll never love anyone again. He wouldn’t know how to do it even if he wanted to. He thinks some part of him, the part necessary for love, is probably already dead.

Until he hears Festian words for the first time since he left: “Te encontre.” I found you.

He turns in the direction of the voice. It’s Kel, like he knew it would be. Even all these years later, he knows her voice.

“What are you doing here?” he asks her, in Basic.

“The usual.” She answers him in Basic, too. It sounds strange from her, wrong. “Are you busy?”

“Not really.” He doesn’t know how to talk to her. He doesn’t even know how to look at her.

From behind her back she pulls a bottle of amber liquid. “Come have a drink with me,” she says in Festian.

Cassian doesn’t usually drink. His comrades have occasionally accused him of being uptight, but it’s really just that he never feels safe.

He shakes his head. “I don’t, usually,” he says. “I like to keep a clear head.”

“It’s a special occasion,” says Kel.

“What special occasion?”

“Seeing me isn’t special?” she cocks her head and smiles. He doesn’t know how to answer. “Come on, kid,” she says. “Come have a drink.” He follows her.

* * * * *

“What should we drink to?” she asks, filling his glass and then her own. This must be her quarters here; there is nowhere to sit but the narrow bunk, so that’s where they are. He’s nervous.

He shakes his head. “I don’t know.”

“What did they used to say back home? To health and love and time to enjoy them.”

“We’re never going to have any of those things,” says Cassian, but he touches his glass to hers and raises it to his lips. She drains her glass in one go. He takes a small sip. It burns.

“What’s wrong with you, Cassi?” she asks. “Aren’t you happy to see me?”

“I don’t know,” he says. “I think this is just what I’m like now.” He doesn’t object to the nickname. He’s old enough now that he doesn’t worry about seeming childish anymore.

“Well, keep drinking until you’re normal again,” she says, putting her hand underneath his glass and tilting it up toward him. He swallows the liquid obligingly. She refills her own glass and takes a drink. For a moment, it’s quiet.

“I heard you’re doing intelligence now,” she says. He only shrugs. He can’t talk about his work, and she knows it. But there’s nothing else he can talk about, either; he doesn’t do anything but work, and occasionally fool around with someone when the loneliness gets to be too much. “I hear you’re the best.”

“Can’t be that good,” he says, “if you’re hearing things about me.”

She laughs a little, and he looks down, tries to suppress a little smile, takes a drink. She refills his glass. He drinks again. It burns his throat, but he can feel it working, feel something start to loosen, so he takes another drink.

“Do you ever see anyone from home?” she asks.

He shakes his head. “No. You?”

“Once or twice. Not very often. Not a lot of us left.”

“Did you hear about Sorra?” He’s starting to feel softer; the edges of everything seem blurred and gentle. This must be why people drink, he thinks, and he finishes his glass. Kel refills it.

“She dead?” asks Kel. He nods, drinks again. “What happened?”

“She let them get her. They were never going to leave while she was alive. She let them get her. So Organa could have his ceasefire and his base.”

“Seems like it worked,” says Kel.

“I guess so.” Sorra was the closest thing either of them had to a parent.

Kel raises her glass. “To Sorra.” They drink.

“If we drink to everyone we know who’s dead,” says Cassian, “we’ll be blind drunk in a minute.”

“That’s the idea,” says Kel, and she refills his glass again.

“I don’t need any more,” he says. “You’re going to have to carry me out of here as it is.”

“Where were you planning to go?” she asks. He looks at the liquid in his glass and doesn’t say anything. He thinks he’s drunk. She moves a little closer to him. “I missed you, Cass,” she says. “How long has it been? Six, seven years?”

“I don’t know,” he says. “I quit counting.”

“It must have been a long time,” she says. “You were just a skinny kid last time I saw you.” She touches his face. “Couldn’t have grown a beard like that back then. It looks good. You look really good.” She brushes his hair out of his eyes.

He knows where this is going, and he wants it, but he’s also terrified. He’s afraid he won’t be able to stop himself from falling in love with her again. He takes a drink. His hand is shaking, a little. He’s drunk.

“Kel,” he says, because he doesn’t know what else to say. She stands up, sets herself back down in his lap, runs her hands through his hair and along his face. He closes his eyes. He’s too drunk to think. He’s going to feel like shit tomorrow. He’s going to regret everything about this tomorrow. But right now, he’s got Kel in his arms again, and it feels good. He didn’t realize how much he’d missed her. She kisses him, holding his face in her hands, and then she rests her forehead against his and laughs a little.

“I missed you,” he whispers. “I missed you so much.” She laughs and kisses him again.

“I missed you, too, kid.” She strokes his face and laughs again and now he’s laughing, too, because he’s drunk and he’s so drunk that he forgets he has a glass in his hand, so he spills the whiskey everywhere trying to put his arms around her, and Kel throws her head back and laughs. “If you wanted to get my clothes off,” she says, “all you had to do was ask.” She drains her glass and sets it aside, pulls her shirt up over her head and drops it on the floor, then does the same with his. They are both giggling and everything feels warm.

She runs her fingers along the scar under his collarbone, where she stitched him up after the shrapnel hit him. “That really is some scar,” she says.

“Lucky me,” he says. “Girls love scars.” She had been right about that. Every person he’s slept with, male or female, has made a point of lavishing kisses on that ugly scar.

She laughs, kisses him again. He runs his hands over her skin. She has scars, too; some of them he remembers, and some of them are new. They’re still laughing but there’s an urgency building up, too. He runs his hands up along her back, finding the clasp for her bra. He doesn’t care anymore if this is a good idea or not; he wants her, wants all of her.

They’re drunk enough that it’s a minor disaster. He can’t seem to figure out how to undo his own belt and she has to try to help him, but neither of them can stop laughing long enough to concentrate. “Stand up,” she says. “Stand up and I’ll get it.” But when he stands up he sways from side to side and collapses back onto the bunk, giggling helplessly. “You really can’t hold your liquor, Andor,” she tells him.

“I told you,” he says, “I told you I don’t drink.” He looks up at her. She’s the prettiest thing he’s ever seen.

She sits on the floor and unlaces his boots, one at a time, pulling them off and tossing them across the small room. Then, kneeling between his legs, she undoes his belt and his pants and drags them down and off. “Hi,” she says.

“Hi,” he answers, and reaches down to touch her face, her hair. He can feel the words “I love you” trying to come out of his mouth and he swallows them back.

* * * * *

As he predicted, he feels like absolute garbage when he wakes up. There isn’t room for two people in the tiny bunk, so he’s still on top of her, mostly, and as soon as he blinks his eyes awake he regrets it and closes them again.

“Good morning,” Kel says, and he groans. His head feels like it’s been stuffed full of nails. She starts to wiggle out from under him. “You feel okay?”

“No,” he says. “I think I’m going to die.”

“I didn’t know you were such a lightweight, Cassi. I’m sorry. I’ll get you some water. You want something to eat?”

The idea of food makes his stomach roil. He buries his head in the thin pillow and a pathetic moan escapes him. Kel kisses his head and starts to get dressed.

Everything feels like it’s moving, like he’s in space, but he was planetside the last he knew.

Kel reappears a few minutes later and puts a glass of water in his hand. He’s never been so thirsty in his entire life. “Tiny sips,” she tells him. “I don’t want to have to wash puke off of my sheets today.”

“I hate you,” he says.

“I know you do, baby. Drink some water. I hope you don’t have anything important to do today.”


	7. 6 ABY

Kel can’t remember the last time she actually stood on the surface of her homeworld. It hasn’t changed much: the air still hurts to breathe, and the snow and ice that cover everything is still gray, or even black in places, from the heavy pollution. The streets are still lined with crumbling buildings that were damaged during the war, and there are still parentless children running through them, picking up rocks. But there are no stormtroopers with rifles standing on the corner, hassling people for papers and occasionally shooting someone for what seems to be no reason at all.

She remembers the blinding whiteness of Hoth, another frozen world, and how she hadn’t realized that snow was supposed to look like that, that the only reason the snow she grew up with was gray was because the air was so poisoned from the refineries.

Now the war is over, and she’s come home to rebuild, but looking around, she can’t imagine how to begin. There is a team coming from the New Republic, a fact finding mission, and somehow it’s become Kel’s job to show them around. The team is being led by Princess Leia, who Kel knows by sight but has never met before. She had known the princess’s father, though. He was the man who had come to Fest when Kel was eighteen, who had convinced Sorra to try a ceasefire, and who Kel had left with. She had eventually grown to like the senator, although she had found it hard to trust him at first. The mistrust of offworlders was hardwired into her.

Kel cannot help but respect Princess Leia, who was caught by Darth Vader twice and escaped both times, which as far as Kel knows is entirely unprecedented. No one gets away from Darth Vader. No one but Princess Leia.

* * * * *

Princess Leia arrives on the planet, along with her husband and a few others, and Kel greets them. She asks Kel to call her Leia. Kel had not been sure what to expect, but the woman she meets is not quite it. She’s seen the princess before, of course; seen her at briefings, passed her in the corridors at Echo Base, and seen her at the medal ceremony back on Yavin IV, which feels like a hundred years ago. In person, up close, the princess has a kind of fire burning in her eyes that Kel recognizes. Princess Leia lost everything she ever had, and has spent the last six years trying to salvage something from the wreckage. She would have fit in perfectly here.

The princess is obviously troubled by what she sees on Fest. There is a deep furrow in her brow as she listens to Kel explain what they face. She asks thoughtful questions and makes notes constantly. Her protocol droid never shuts up, and the princess’s husband eventually shepherds him away. He’s a former smuggler, and it’s obvious that he feels out of his depth now that the war is over and his skills are no longer needed. But he also seems more comfortable with Fest than the princess does; Kel supposes he must have grown up somewhere like this and she wonders where. Han Solo is famous, but no one knows much about who he was before he was a rebel hero.

After the official tour is complete, the princess asks Kel to have a drink with her, and Kel joins her in the room where the princess is staying. It’s one of the nicer places still standing, but it’s still Fest: the electricity is unreliable and flickers on and off, and the water running through the pipes might be freezing one minute and scalding the next.

“It’s going to be very difficult,” says the princess. “And there are planets all over the galaxy that are in just as bad shape. But I’m planning to personally make sure Fest gets the attention it needs.”

There has to be some reason this feels personal for the princess, and Kel can’t really imagine why that should be. She doubts the princess has ever even been to this place before; if she had, she wouldn’t be so shocked by what it’s like here. “Can I ask why?” says Kel. “Why it matters to you?”

The princess hesitates, like she isn’t sure how to answer at first. “Cassian Andor,” she says at last. “This was his homeworld, wasn’t it?”

Kel nods. Of course it was Cassian, the hero, the man who assembled the team that became Rogue One and led them to Scarif, where they all perished. Cassian, who she’d only seen that one time, back on Dantooine, when she’d poured whiskey down his throat and her own, until the cold, hard man he’d grown into dissolved back into the boy she’d known. Cassian, who she had never been brave enough to say “I love you” to, even though he’d said it to her a hundred times. Cassian, whose path never crossed with hers ever again after that one night on Dantooine. They’d both been on Yavin right before Scarif; if he had found her then, if he had asked her to join him on his unsanctioned mission, she might have. She would have. But she hadn’t even known he had been there until he was gone, and then he was dead.

“Did you know him?” asks Kel.

“Just a little,” answers the princess. “Not very well.” She smiles into her drink, far away. “Did you?”

“Since we were kids,” says Kel. “But I hadn’t seen him in a long, long time when he died. It’s so strange to be home without him here.” She’s not sure why she told the princess that, except that the princess feels like someone she can trust, someone who will understand. The war’s over. It’s time to learn to feel again.

“I’m sorry,” says the princess, and she sets her hand on Kel’s, just for a moment. “I can only imagine.”

“It could be worse,” says Kel. The princess doesn’t have a home at all anymore. “At least…”

“At least the planet’s still here?” says the princess. “You’d be amazed how often I hear that.” She is smiling that faraway smile. “It could always be worse. That doesn’t mean that the way it is isn’t painful. It doesn’t hurt any less to lose someone, just because someone else lost more.” 

Kel thinks about that day Cassian had first told her that he loved her, when they were crushed together under the ice in the drainage ditch, waiting to get shot and somehow escaping with their lives. She feels something warm in her face, her eyes.

Part of the legend that’s grown up around Rogue One is a story that Cassian and Jyn Erso had fallen in love. Who knows how it got started; people love a romantic story. It’s a story that’s only ever repeated by people who never actually met him; no one who had known Captain Andor in life found it plausible. He had been known for being dispassionate, unemotional, even cold. He had no real friends as far as anyone knew; he did his job and he kept to himself. The idea of that man falling in love with anyone was hard to credit. 

But they hadn’t known him the way she had known him, and she thinks, or at least hopes, that there’s some truth to it. None of them had known Cassian at fifteen, how sweet he could be, how gentle. The way he had touched her so reverently that first time, the two of them on a ragged blanket in an old sewer, and the look on his face when she told him she was leaving.

“He was a hero,” says the princess, softly. “What Rogue One did at Scarif… they saved so many lives. Uncountable lives. So many planets might have ended up like Alderaan, if it weren’t for them. Their sacrifice. So helping this world seems like the least I can do. I know he loved this place.”

“I don’t know if ‘love’ is the right word,” says Kel. “It was a miserable place to grow up. But your home is your home."

The princess has her faraway smile on again. “Yes,” she says. “Your home is your home.”


End file.
